The opinions represented in this article do not necessarily represent those of the staff of CUIndependent.com nor any of its sponsors.
I am currently sitting in the Laughing Goat Café in Boulder, listening to Brazilian music and watching the crowd sway back and forth to the festive music. The distinctive beat, the clapping, the cries of enjoyment all seem to be drawn directly from the heart of Brazil. However, a close glance into the crowd will immediately tell a different story – nobody in the crowd is actually Brazilian.
Sure, the songs are Brazilian, but the singers are clearly American. Every one of them is wearing a T-shirt with the Brazilian flag on the front, in a faint attempt to lend credibility to their performance. The dancers don’t seem to mind much – they are all college students or typical Boulderites, and to them, a Brazilian beat is a Brazilian beat. For a moment, they are able to become Brazilian, at least in movement if not in actuality.
I’ve often wondered if we can ever abandon our mother culture and embrace another’s culture as our own. Having lived in Belgium for a year, I love the Belgian sense of tradition, of closeness toward one’s family and the millions of indescribable acts unique only to the Belgian culture. I am not sure if I could ever become Belgian, whether having lived there one year or 10 years. Deep down, I suspect that I will always be American, no matter how much I try to stuff my upbringing into the recesses of my mind and appearance. According to my Belgian friends, my lingering trace of America is charming, but I always yearn to shake off the USA just once and truly become part of the culture in which I am immersed.
Somewhat guiltily, I also suspect that anywhere I go, I will also miss some aspect of American culture. As embarrassed as I am that baseball games and “I love rock ‘n’ roll” are both defining elements of Americana, deep down I love the home-grown, all-American mentality. Well, I at least love it in small doses.
So how should we react to those who believe culture is like an item of clothing, to be exchanged at any whim and desire? I wince at the dancers in the Laughing Goat and at many recently returned travelers exposed to a new area of the world, returning “a newborn native” and sporting clothing and coined colloquial expressions. I’m also slightly uncomfortable after complimenting a friend’s article of clothing only to be told with immense pride, “I bought it in [insert country here].” Underneath this phrase lies a tangle of sentiments – pride in having visited, believed knowledge of that country and desire to tell me all about it.
Now, I’ll be bold. Regretfully, I must state that knowing a culture requires more than a semester of a study-abroad program. Knowing a culture requires more than a visit of a country’s port city. Knowing a culture requires more than a fast musical beat, or a T-shirt, or conversation with a native.
Perhaps, knowing a culture emerges after the excitement of discovery has worn away. When the cities have been explored, friendships formed and the banality of every day sets in, knowing a culture begins to cultivate. Perhaps, knowing a culture is only possible when one may experience the wistful longing to shred the last-minute differences between one’s self and the surrounding culture, while regretfully recognizing these final differences are fundamentally everlasting.
Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Chelsea Komlo at Chelsea.komlo@colorado.edu.
